


waking up after

by sheafrotherdon, Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve, breathing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waking up after

Steve can't breathe. He's lying on his belly, head bowed and arms wrapped around a pillow, feeling the muscles in his back working as he gasps and curses and shudders his way through each inhalation. Yet despite the effort, Steve's still aware of the noises he's making, raw enough that he'd be embarrassed if not for the fact that it feels _so fucking good_ , and "God—Danny..."

 _don't stop don't stop don't stop_

Danny mumbles, "Jeez, McGarrett, let a guy work here," turning his head so that his stubble scrapes in gentle chastisement against Steve's ass. Steve doesn't think he's ever felt so overheated in his whole life, no desert mission in full combat gear able to compete with how Danny can make him tremble and sweat, and he whines, _whines_ , tries to raise his ass a little, push back for more. But Danny has him held just so, one arm lying across the small of Steve's back, and he takes his time before he goes back to licking at Steve, pushing his tongue inside and _god_...

Steve can't move forward into the pleasure, can't get away from it, can only lie there and take it when Danny curls his tongue, Jesus Christ, and Steve can feel his own Adam's apple working, as if it's trying to stop something—some noise; something animal and embarrassing—from escaping him. He's never dared to ask for this before, from anyone, and now that he has it, he doesn’t know if he’s more overwhelmed by the heat of it, or the eagerness Danny’s displaying, or the depth of his own response.

"S'okay, babe," Danny murmurs, but the exhale of his words is a tangible thing against Steve's sensitized skin.

Steve shivers, hips jerking helplessly down into the mattress. "Please," he says, rubbing against the sheets. "Please, please..."

"It's okay," Danny's saying, "it's okay," big hands rubbing circles of comfort into Steve's hips, the warmth of them sinking right down into the marrow, and it's getting more difficult for Steve to tell the difference between the heat of Danny's touch and the orgasm building at the base of his spine. He moans, and Danny slides up his body, blanketing him, sliding his hands up Steve's arms and nuzzling the back of his neck. Danny’s hard, his cock rubbing up against Steve's ass, and he rolls his hips, uses his teeth to graze the soft skin behind Steve's ear. Strong fingers loop around Steve's wrists, and part of Steve is freaked out that he's _not_ freaked out at how fight-or-flight's not kicking in, how Danny's wrapped all around him and Steve's got nowhere to go and he's _loving_ it. All he can do is push his ass back against Danny's cock, wanting.

"Like this, huh?" Danny says, in a voice that would be conversational if not for the note of tension in it. "Steve, swear to god, your ass..." He thrusts again, and Steve can feel Danny's breath stutter, his chest heave against Steve's back.

"Come on," Steve says, "Christ, what are you, just _fuck_ me already Danny, just—" and he presses his face against the pillow, squeezing his eyes tight shut against the way his voice cracks embarrassingly. Steve's desperate in a way he's not sure he's ever experienced before, his ribcage aching from the want it's struggling to keep contained; it’s getting harder to process that it’s only been a few hours since the first time he touched Danny deliberately, with intent.

Danny's hands tighten around Steve's wrists, and he holds himself still for a long, long moment—then he's reaching for the bedside cabinet, yanking open the drawer and fumbling for the lube. "You're sure?" he asks, voice no steadier than Steve's own. Steve hears the snick of the cap opening, the wet sound of Danny's fingers rubbing slickly together.

" _Yes_ ," Steve says, giving up even the idea of detachment; there's no scope for it; there's never been distance between him and Danny. From the first moment they met, from the time Steve called the governor and Danny almost broke his knuckles on Steve's jaw, they've been orbiting one another, holding one another in their own strange gravity, and so Steve can only whisper _please_ when Danny bends his head to kiss Steve's shoulder blade, when Danny slowly pushes two fingers inside of him.

"You and me babe," he says, "you and me, do you even get it, do, do you—" Danny curls his fingers inside Steve, making the breath catch and sob in Steve's throat as every nerve ending in his body lights up and he says _yes; yes, yes_. When Danny adds a third finger, Steve feels his lungs fill up with bright new oxygen, and he moans, helpless, lit up and grateful, and the hitch in Danny's breathing, the exhale against his neck is beautiful, staggering. Steve feels as if he could come from just this alone, from just the sensation of Danny’s fingers fucking him open, and he squeezes his eyes tight shut, feels the swift pant of his breath dampening the pillow beneath him.

“Fuck, Danny,” Steve groans, and he has no idea how he went so long without letting himself have this—without asking for the press of Danny’s callused fingers against his skin. He has no real idea what they’re doing, where they can go from here, but he _wants_. “Christ, I— _harder_ …” Danny twists his fingers just so, and Steve’s eyes fly open as he comes, taking in the crumpled sheets and the freckles on his left wrist and the light flooding in through the window and the sound of his own ragged breathing, and through it all there’s Danny’s voice, talking him through, talking him down.

When he comes back to himself, it’s to find that Danny has draped himself over Steve’s back, blanketing him in warmth, holding him down with strong limbs. Danny’s erection is still hard against the small of Steve’s back, but there’s no urgency to his movements—his hands are moving in long, steady sweeps up Steve’s sides and down his arms; the kisses he’s pressing to the nape of Steve’s neck are gentle, soft. Steve moves one hand, finds Danny’s and tangles their fingers together; Danny’s thumb rubs soothing circles into the palm of Steve’s hand. “Hey,” Danny says, “hey, you goof. C’mon, breathe for me here, Steve, that’s right, c’mon, let it go…” And when Steve exhales, turns over, looks up at the bright blue of Danny’s eyes, it’s like waking up after a long sleep: like taking a deep breath for the very first time.


End file.
